


ripped at every edge

by plinys



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:17:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6372601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She dents the walls he has carefully constructed around himself in an instant. All it takes is that casual quirk of her lips before she says, “This is then. The famous batcave?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	ripped at every edge

**Author's Note:**

> Is this probably slightly ooc because I've never written the characters before and only saw the movie once? Yes. But was I craving some post-BVS Wonderbat fic so much that I had to go write it myself? Also yes.

He invites her inside.

Into a place where he has invited so few others before. It should feel like an honor, he means it too, and yet she takes to his space as if she has always belonged there, as if it has always belonged to her. 

He cannot help himself from wondering if this is part of her nature, this casual intimacy with her surroundings, the experience of lifetimes that he can barely even begin to calculate. Maybe when one has seen as much as she has, the boundaries of others become nothing. 

She dents the walls he has carefully constructed around himself in an instant. All it takes is that casual quirk of her lips before she says, “This is then. The famous  _ batcave _ ?”

“Normally people are more impressed.” 

“It’s hard to impress me.” 

He doesn’t doubt that. 

“I’ll impress you yet,” he reassures her. The objective already settling in his mind as a personal mission. “How do you feel about cars?”

She smiles lightly at that, as if she already knows all of his secrets. “I used to have an invisible plane, nothing really compares to that.”

“Used to?”

Her laughter when it comes is a light trinkle, barely there, somehow managing to be unmissable nevertheless. 

It’s been years since he’s laughed, since he has even considered it. He’s not even certain he can remember a time, maybe when the boys had been around, but that seems so long ago now. 

Yet, as she says, “I misplaced it,” he nearly does. 

\---

There is a hotel in the city, a penthouse suite and a room key with her name on it, but as the evening dwells on she makes no move to leave. 

Instead he watches as she kicks off her high heels, leaning against the control panel beside him as they continue to review the gathered data on the metahumans between them. A mixture of information, their own personal research combined with Luthor’s files. 

He’s the one that will insist they turn in for the night hours later. Making a self-deprecating joke about being a mere mortal, while he tries his best to ignore Alfred calling him a hypocrite under his breath. 

She’s still there in the morning. 

A fact that seems almost remarkable as the light of a new day streams in through the window. He finds her there on the balcony, a white terrycloth robe tied around her body and a coffee cup in her hands.

She looks drastically different from the norm, no expensive ballgowns, no battle armor. For a second he could almost mistake her for mortal, but he knows better than that now.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

“It’s your lake house.” 

It is, and yet - 

“Join me,” she says, seeming to sense uncharacteristic hesitation . It is only when he finally moves forward, setting his own mug of something much stronger than coffee on the edge of the balcony, that she speaks up once more. “I could live a hundred thousand years and never get tired of sunrises.” 

“Haven’t you already?”

\---

There are things he doesn’t talk about. Secrets that he will never share, memories that stay locked up in his darkness of nightmares. 

He had tried therapy once, acting upon a worried suggestion. It had been too much of a production, spending his time carefully rewording each statement not to reveal who he was. 

A life time of loss that had to be summed up in less words.

The hospital fire. 

A car accident. 

Drug overdose. 

A dirty bomb. 

Nobody ever understands. 

Though he thinks for a second that she might, as they look over the metahuman data, watching a kid with superspeed flash across the screen. When he sees the way her lips pitch down into something like a frown, something that feels too much like understanding, and he says, “He’s too damn young for this.”

\---

The romantic movies will insist that one never knows who moves first. That these sorts of things were inevitable, that they come from within one's very soul. Those stories get it all wrong.

All that it takes for two beings to collide is a handful of bad memories, topics avoided, and a two bottles of expensive wine. 

He’s done this before.

Plenty of women have found their way into his bed over the years, or onto his kitchen counter, or out in the balcony with the morning light streaming around them. His days of being Gotham’s number one playboy may have come and gone, but he knows what he is doing. 

As does she. 

Perhaps that’s why they fit together easily. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ plinys


End file.
